


The Day After

by violet_quill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adultery, Community: pervy_werewolf, F/M, Halloween, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-20
Updated: 2010-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:32:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violet_quill/pseuds/violet_quill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the day after Halloween in 1981, and Remus is trying not to remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day After

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2004 for a Halloween challenge at Pervy Werewolf; originally posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/pervy_werewolf/210033.html).

It is the day after Halloween.

The leaves crunch under his shoes on a Muggle street, and something about the atmosphere makes him think that if it weren't so early in the morning there would be children playing on the cobblestone. There are candy wrappers strewn here and there, and he can imagine the scene not so long ago - costumed witches and goblins and vampires clinging to their parents and salivating over chocolate bars and jellybeans.

They were celebrating in the streets last night, in their own way. He knows that there will be more celebrations, in another part of the city tonight. The owls are already beginning to fly; the word is spreading.

He looks down at the crunching under his feet. Her hair was the color of autumn leaves.

> "Oh - oh god!" Her throat was long and white against a backdrop of gray pillows, and when she arched against him he felt every crevice of her body, every smooth inch of skin.
> 
> She made the most wonderful noises when she came, and he loved to solicit them from her. The whimpers, the groans, the staccato gasps that built into breathless moans.
> 
> "You're so beautiful like this," he murmured into her hair, and it smelled of strawberries.
> 
> "So are you," she whispered, lifting her hips and pushing further into his thrusts. "You make me so alive."
> 
> When she shuddered underneath him, he bit his lip to keep from biting her.

He tries not to think about Sirius, and he tries not to think about the cemetery. He can see long, black hair framing a screaming face, an unwilling body dragged into a cage, a crazed expression he doesn't recognize. He can see long, red hair against a backdrop of white pillows, laying still and lifeless under pale skin and breathless lips.

He doesn't think about how he doesn't like coffins anymore than he likes bars; he doesn't wonder who has the worse fate.

He tries not to remember that he will be the only one left to put flowers on the graves.

He doesn't think about James either.

> "James told me he loved me."
> 
> He managed not to show an outward reaction to the churning feeling in his stomach at this announcement. "That's not surprising," he said flatly. "He's felt that way for a long time."
> 
> "And you? How do you feel?" Several strands of hair fell in front of her eyes, and he couldn't help but push them away. They had just finished making love, and the sweat on her brow was beautiful. He was still naked, and unashamed, and he realized that he felt more comfortable with her than he ever had with another human being.
> 
> "You know how I feel, Lily. I can't make you any promises. I'm too..." Unstable. Dangerous. Poor. Too much of a werewolf. "I can't give you security."
> 
> "I don't want security - I want you!" She bit her lip and looked away. "But only if you love me."
> 
> He didn't say anything, and when he looked up again she was already gone.

He's started picking up the candy wrappers as he walks, feeling as if he needs to do something to make the world less ugly today. He shoves trash into a discarded black cauldron that perhaps once held candy, now empty. He wonders what he's supposed to do now.

He thinks for a moment that he should find Peter, and then he remembers that he's dead too. Betrayed.

There are other kinds of betrayals, he thinks, and in his mind he sees the inside of the flat that he shares with Sirius. First he sees dark eyes under dark hair, hears a voice saying, "They want me to be their Secret Keeper. I don't want to do it, but I will. You know I would die for them, Remus."

He sees the same room, another set of eyes. He sees a wash of naked legs and groaning lips and the glistening of a diamond ring on the coffee table. He hears doors slamming, one after another. He sees himself saying, "No. No more. James."

And then he sees the door opening again.

> "Please, Remus!" Her eyes were pleading, green, and wet around the edges.
> 
> "James is my friend, Lily." It was so much harder to say those words when her hands were running over his chest, then sneaking under his shirt, over the zipper on his trousers.
> 
> "And I love him. But I'm never going to - I won't be able to..." She pulled her shirt over her head and he groaned in frustration.
> 
> "You're getting married tomorrow!"
> 
> "Which is why we have to do this now." Her hands were fumbling with the zipper, and then before he could protest, her mouth was on him, hot and wet and -
> 
> "Gods, Lily!" He should stop her, he should push her away, he shouldn't be feeling like that with his best friend's fiance, he shouldn't be sneaking around in the flat when Sirius wasn't there, he shouldn't be... oh god, he shouldn't be coming, he shouldn't be...
> 
> "Make love to me, Remus, please, one last time. I don't care how you feel about me. He's never fucked me like you do."

He's come to the end of the street. There are no more houses, no more candy wrappers, no more ghosts of happy children trailing behind him.

He holds himself back. He stops himself from dropping to his knees and howling in anguish, from holding his wand to his own heart, from scratching at the old wounds on his skin and watching them bleed and bleed and know that he's still alive and wondering why, why, why he is.

There is one thought he has, that he cannot hold back.

If he hadn't denied her.

If he had admitted he loved her.

She would be with him, and she would still be alive.

He sets down the cauldron on the edge of the cobblestone and turns, the leaves crunching under his shoes. He walks back down the street, towards the houses and the candy wrappers and ghosts, because he has nowhere else to go.


End file.
